


Six times Michael totally went along with Jeremy’s weird BS

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Fictober, Gen, Jeremy is heading down a path of self-destruction and Michael is helping him carry the load, M/M, Police brutality mention, Starts in first grade and continues through freshman year of college, keep on eye out for other warning tags as new chapters are added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-07-27 15:41:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16222163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: Michael accepts and encourages everything about Jeremy, massive problems and terrible decisions included.





	1. Chapter 1

“Let's run away together.” 

Michael and Jeremy are in first grade. They are sitting on Michael’s bed, wiling away the autumn day, and killing time until Jeremy's mom comes to pick him up. She said she'd come at around noon, it's already around four, and it’s not like they can really _do_ anything, with Mrs. Heere likely to show up any minute, and take Jeremy away.

Michael thinks it's a game. “What happens when you run away?” he asks. 

“First you gotta pack, like food and stuff. Then, you gotta go to the side of the road, and stick your hand out, so somebody can pick you up in their car. Then, you gotta tell them where you’re going, like Kansas or Disney world. Then, you gotta put out a hat and sing songs, so people’ll give you money for food.” 

“Cool,” Michael says.

“Can you help me pack?” Jeremy asks. “Can I borrow the cookies in your drawer? Can you get them for me? What about your monsters sweater? Can I have it?” 

Packing is fun. Michael finds something satisfying in getting to go through and touch all of his possessions, choose the best of the best, and organize them into the just the right spots in his backpack. He's got his Gameboy in the front pocket, where his pencils and assorted schoolish debris usually live, and he's got his PlayStation and a bunch of games in the big part, plus nine colors of playdough, and a green parachute guy. He's got his stuffed snake, his Mario pajamas, and half a box of kool-aid packets. He scrambles around getting things for Jeremy, mostly clothes and food, which is kinda boring for this game. 

“Can we run away to the mall?” Michael suggests. 

“Okay. The mall in Kansas, okay?” 

“How about McDonald’s?” 

“Kansas McDonald’s.” 

Mrs. Heere arrives before Michael and Jeremy can get to Kansas McDonald’s, or even out the door. As he waves goodbye to Michael, Jeremy puts his finger to his mouth. He's still carrying the bag with all of Michael’s stuff. No big. Michael figures he can get it back at school tomorrow. 

The next day, Jeremy isn't at school. In the afternoon, his mom makes him come over to Michael’s house to give him back his stuff and apologize, but she doesn't let Jeremy stay to play. Michael has to wait until morning play time at school the day after that to find out what happened. 

They are sitting cross legged on the floor of the classroom, in the corner that is far away from the other kids. The dinosaur figures are being played with, the superhero figures are being played with too, and the sand and water boxes at the front of the classroom are crowded as always. Jeremy and Michael are making patterns with the geometric tile blocks, because Michael likes them, and because Jeremy sees sucky toys as the price he has to pay for not getting made fun of. 

“I tried to run away,” Jeremy whispers. 

Michael doesn't react immediately. He's creating a design out of red hexagons and blue diamonds, humming something to himself as he does so. It takes a minute for Jeremy’s meaning to set in, and when it does Michael drops his block and jerks his head upwards so quickly that his and Jeremy’s foreheads bump. As he blinks back stars, all Michael can imagine in front of him is an empty spot where Jeremy now sits.   
“I thought—”

“I stuck out my hand, just like I said, and I found some car guys, and I tried to get them to bring me to your house to get you, but they brought me to the police station instead.” 

“Did the police try to shoot you?” 

“They gave me a sticker.” 

“That's so cool! And you were coming to get me?” 

“I wouldn't run away without you. Now I'm not gonna run away at all. Mommy and daddy were real sad.” 

“That's ‘cause they'd miss you,” Michael says sagely. “But it's okay. We can still run away if you want to. Next time, just take them with you, and my mommies, too. We can all go to Kansas McDonald’s. Lots of people like to run away.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Implied child neglect, graphic descriptions of bad housekeeping, 7th graders discussing the existence of nudity in HBO dramas

“It's normal and healthy for parents to fight sometimes,” Michael tells Jeremy in seventh grade. They’re having a sleepover at Michael’s place, but it's the kind of weeknight sleepover that happens very suddenly, usually when Mr. Heere realizes the chaos at home is too much, and decides to remove Jeremy from it, the only way he knows how.

“It's normal and healthy for parents to fight sometimes,” Jeremy repeats, only he does it with sarcastic finger quotes around the words _normal_ and _healthy_. 

“One time, mom tried to clean the kitchen, but she put mom’s coffee up in that one really high shelf above the stove, and mom was pissed.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“She couldn't reach it! Not a morning person, y’know?” 

Jeremy shrugs. 

“So…” Michael draws out the word. Jeremy’s quiet is making the air heavy.

“You really think the… stuff… like, the stuff that happens and stuff is kinda like the kind of… um… stuff, that is—” Jeremy waves his hand, in a vague gesture that could mean just about anything. “You get what I'm saying, right?” 

“Totally,” Michael says. “It’ll blow over by tomorrow.” 

The next day after school, Michael calls Jeremy to make sure it really has blown over, and gets a response saying that his dad is in bed, and his mom is drinking box wine and binge watching Gilmore Girls. 

“Does that count as blown over?” Michael asks. 

“Yeah?” 

Michael ignores the doubt in Jeremy’s voice, and seizes instead on the affirmation. “TV binges are a good way to unwind,” he says. “Did you know that binge watching a TV show can temporarily alter your world view? I read something about that online. Don't remember where. The article recommended carefully choosing what activity you do after watching a certain show, like you shouldn't interact with people after watching West World, ‘cause you might forget they aren't robots.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“You know how in West World everybody is—”

“Naked!”

“…Robots.”

“Seriously, your moms let you watch that?” 

“Yeah, man. Then we sit down as a family and have mega awkward conversations about it after,” Michael says, looking around for the aforementioned moms, who luckily do not materialize in front of him to hear him calling their attempts at thoughtful discussion awkward. “Gotta use that family time to really dig deep into pressing issues, like whether the robots are naked ‘cause they’re robots, or ‘cause of objectification, and whether objectifying the robots is a decision that they really had to make. Anyway, I've already talked about robot nudity enough for one lifetime, and besides, don't think Gilmore Girls has that problem.” 

“They don't look like robots,” Jeremy presses on. “They look like people.” 

“Good for them.”

The conversation goes on like that for a while, until Michael agrees to throw season one of West World on a USB, and bring it over for him and Jeremy to watch together. Because sure, they could watch it at Michael’s place, but Michael’s moms consider Jeremy practically a second son, and sometimes it's more fun to watch pirated HBO without well-meaning pseudo-relatives encouraging you to critically analyze every second of it. 

There is a certain rhythm to the Heere household, which Michael has had more than half his life to get used to. That's how he manages to walk into it without flinching at the mess. Mrs. Heere has her clean periods, but they’re interspersed with long and drawn out dirty periods, that get worse and worse until something snaps.

Right now, the Heere house is in the deepest depths of a dirty period. Jeremy has to dig out his hidden cups and bowl, so that he and Micheal can have somewhere to put their soda and Doritos. This time, they are stuffed in a plastic shopping bag at the bottom of the laundry hamper, which is not exactly where Michael would choose to put something he planned on eating off of, but the plastic probably means it's okay. Jeremy has had to get increasingly creative. Sometimes his mom finds his stash and steals it, so she can have something clean to eat off of without doing dishes. 

In the kitchen, the sink is piled high, with plates, pans, and silverware in all states of grime and mold. There's something in the water that might be maggots, or maybe mosquito larvae. Michael can't blame Jeremy for coming up with ways to avoid touching it. 

“Cool Ranch!” Michael exclaims appreciatively, trying to swipe a chip, as Jeremy pours them into the bowl. He makes no comment on anything else, and if his stomach is churning a little, he pretends it isn't. He's eaten food at Jeremy’s house a million times, and never died. It's just like eating Doritos in the apocalypse, which is totally a thing that Michael would do. 

“We’ve got marshmallows,” Jeremy offers. 

“Blech.” 

“Not blech.” 

“Yeah, if you like chewing on memory foam.” 

Undaunted, Jeremy snags the bag of marshmallows off the shelf, and pours them in with the Doritos. 

“Are you seriously ruining the Doritos with your gross ass marshmallow powder?” 

“Eat around them.”

“Can't. They shed. So do the Doritos, come to think of it. Congrats, you ruined all the snacks.” 

“You want Mountain Dew or Coke? The Coke might be kinda old.” 

“Dew it is.” 

They get the snacks up to Jeremy’s room, where Jeremy successfully gets Michael to eat the marshmallows, Dorito powder and all, by betting him that he can't jam six of them into his mouth at once. Then, they watch the first two episodes of West World, and it's kinda funny, because after harping so much on the robot nudity, Jeremy covers his eyes with his hands every time a nude robot comes on the screen. Michael chalks it up to just another Jeremy quirk. 

They are halfway through the third episode, when the screams start up downstairs. Michael can make out the voice of Mrs. Heere. 

“Don't you dare touch it! That's my job. For fuck’s sake, I swear you make things easier when you don't get out of bed!” 

Michael steals a glance at Jeremy. 

“This is normal,” Jeremy says thickly. “People fight sometimes.” 

“Super normal,” Michael agrees. It isn't, or at least Michael hopes to God that it isn't and that Jeremy’s parents are some kind of bizarre outliers, but that isn't what Jeremy needs to hear right now.


	3. Chapter 3

The start of high school means seemingly friendly upperclassmen trying to to trick the newly arrived freshmen into joining a myriad of after school clubs, ranging from model UN, to competitive stamp collecting, to the frisbee gold league. 

Michael is immune to their wiles. 

Jeremy, not so much. 

“I could be a frisbee golfer!” Jeremy announces, on the third day of school. “I mean, why not? What’s stopping me from playing golf with a frisbee?” 

There are, in fact, a lot of things stopping Jeremy from playing golf with a frisbee. He's asthmatic, and has the worst aim of anybody Michael has ever met. His coordination and spacial awareness are also kind of shit. Jeremy walks into walls. He never successfully catches anything that Michael throws at him. He trips walking up stairs, and freaks out when people zoom past him on bikes at a five foot distance, because in his mind, that's roadkill range. 

Michael doesn't say any of that. He pumps his fist. “Hell yeah, frisbee golfing.” 

“I'm gonna do it,” Jeremy says. “I'm gonna sign up!” 

“Do it!” 

“I will! Tomorrow!” 

“Awesome. I’ll come to all your games. Can't wait for you to be a frisbee golfer.” 

Tomorrow comes, and Jeremy does not sign up for frisbee golf. 

“What about debate team?” He asks Michael that morning, standing by his locker, and waiting for the first period bell to ring. 

“What about it?” 

“Should I join?” 

The answer to that is an emphatic _no_. It might even be a worse idea than frisbee golf. When people become impassioned about arguing an issue, Jeremy gets nervous and backs down. Michael has seen it happen plenty of times between Jeremy and his mother, who is a devout antivaxxer, among other things. When Michael was younger, his own mothers had taken him aside and talked to him about not trying to convince Jeremy do things after receiving an initial no, because convincing somebody to go along with things that they didn't really want to do wasn't right, even in cases when it was easy. 

“If you want to join, you should do it,” Michael says. “The best way to get better at something you suck at is to practice.” 

“Yeah! I mean… wait. Do you really think I suck?” 

“You’re the coolest person I know,” Michael says. “And once you learn how to debate, you’ll be my favorite debater. Let's debate something now.” 

“Okay?” Jeremy slumps uncertainly, hands jammed in his pockets.

“Captain Picard could beat Captain Kirk in a pole dancing competition.” 

“…Ew.” 

“You’re supposed to refute me.” 

Jeremy is making a face like he just bit into a wormy apple. “Where’d you even come up with that?” 

Michael shrugs. “Come on,” he encourages. “I just gave you an easy one.” 

“You just made me imagine Patrick Stewart trying to pole dance.” 

“Good!” Michael encourages. “Now use that mental image to argue with me!” 

The bell rings. Jeremy looks around, as though he's expecting the somebody to come leaping out from behind the lockers, and tackle him to the ground. He leans in close to Michael. “Kirk would… he'd probably win? For reasons.” 

“Like nice legs?” 

Jeremy's entire face turns red. He never mentions debate team again. Michael hopes it isn't his fault. 

Over the course of the next week, Jeremy tries out the idea of a different club each day, but he never puts his name on a sign up sheet, let alone attends a meeting. 

On Friday, it’s Future Teachers of America. Michael raises his eyebrows when Jeremy mentions it over lunch in the school cafeteria. 

“What?” Jeremy asks.

“Do you wanna be a teacher?”   
“I don't know! How am I supposed to know a thing like that? Do you know whether or not you want to be a teacher?” 

Michael takes a bite of his chicken nuggets. “I wanna be a video game designer,” he says, around a full mouth. “Why do you want to join all these clubs anyway?” 

“I don't know.” Jeremy spreads out his arms, gesturing to the grand expanse of empty cafeteria table around them. “It'd just be nice to have more people who liked me, or even tolerated me. I'd settle for being tolerated, or like maybe a part of something or whatever.” 

“That's why people join cults,” Michael says. 

“Cool. Well, sign-ups for the creepy chanting and kool-aid drinking club aren't until tomorrow.” 

“Okay, so I'm pretty sure that one doesn't actually exist…”

Jeremy rests his head in his arms, looking up at Michael. “I'd probably join a cult if I found one. They seem to have a vested interest in welcoming new members. I could get behind that.” 

“But get this,” Michael says, hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, “we don't need a cult, because we have each other.” 

“I'm such a loser that a cult probably wouldn't even accept me.” 

“Not true! Any cult would be lucky to have you.” 

“Thanks, Michael.” 

It's a couple of months before Jeremy mentions clubs, cults, or teams again. Just as Michael supported Jeremy in wanting to join stuff, Michael supports Jeremy in being hunched over, scared, and uninvolved in student activity. Sure, Michael wishes Jeremy would maybe lay off writing his Humiliation Sheets, a mounting daily tally of everything he’s ever done wrong, but they’re Jeremy’s thing. Everybody has their thing. 

When Jeremy does bring up clubs again, it's in tribute to Christine Canigula.

“She's the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” Jeremy says. 

Michael smiles, but it doesn't go to his eyes. 

“She’s sweet, and perfect, and just… gah… she’s like nobody else at this school.” 

Michael smiles, and ignores the encroaching dread. 

“She likes theatre,” Jeremy says. From that point on, Jeremy starts to like theatre too, and it seems genuine. He watches the 1998 filmed version of Cats, screenshots a bunch of cat-lady-butts, and sends them to Michael (who does not want them). It's hella weird, actually, but it's definitely a sign that Jeremy is taking some personal initiative in the whole theatre thing, instead of just following it because of some girl he's never spoken to. 

Well, either that, or Jeremy is a closet furry. Michael guesses that's okay, if it's how Jeremy is. There's no school club to represent that particular subset of humanity, however, and Jeremy doesn't get around to signing up for any school plays for the rest of freshman year. He doesn't get around to talking to Christine either, just about her, and that's fine. Michael doesn't judge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews remain highly appreciated. It means a lot to me to know that people are reading, and to know what people think.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for ableism, which doesn't really get resolved within the context of this story. Warnings for talk of illness, and bad parenting.

There’s a game called Plague Inc on Michael’s phone. In it, you get to play as a virus, and the goal is to spread until you wipe out all of humanity. It's fun ‘cause there's a lot of strategy involved, and also ‘cause you get to name your virus, and at the end of the game you get a little pop up, saying “-insert name here- has destroyed the world!”, and that's wicked balling. Michael screen shots the different pop ups and texts them to Jeremy: 

**Weed has destroyed the world!**

**Lack of Weed :( has destroyed the world!**

**Bunnies has destroyed the world!**

**Wolverine’s Dick has destroyed the world!**

**Germy Heere has destroyed the world!**

The last one is a joke. Jeremy would never destroy the world. If there ever is a plague to end all plagues, Michael suspects that Jeremy will be wiped out long before the rest of humanity reaches the hunkering down in underground bunkers, waiting for the apocalypse stage. 

Lots of illnesses get stopped with inoculations, and Jeremy doesn't get any of those. Even normal medicine is iffy. Like, sure, Jeremy gets an inhaler for his asthma, but only because Michael failed fabulously at faking asthma during seventh grade to get a prescription for him, and and man oh man had that been a shit storm, what with the parental discovery and all. 

Sophomore year brings with it the Great Middleborough High Whooping Cough Outbreak. 

The Great Middleborough High Whooping Cough Outbreak of sophomore year is _not_ Jeremy’s fault. He's patient zero, but it's not his fault. 

There are lots of difficulty settings in the Plague Inc game. On the medium setting, sick people are ignored or avoided. Michael and Jeremy are always ignored and avoided. Jeremy spends over a week dutifully coming to school and coughing up a lung before anybody decides to do anything about it, other than laugh and make stupid faces. Michael would hate them all, if hating them weren't a waste of time.

On the easy setting on Plague Inc sick people are given hugs. That's more the approach that Michael takes. Good thing his moms aren't crazy, and he's up to date on all his vaccines. 

Sometimes, Michael _does_ hate Mrs. Heere, just a little bit. Like, sure, hatred harshes Michael’s good vibes, and usually Mrs. Heere is hella nice and chill, but there's still Jeremy to think about. Michael thinks a lot about Jeremy. Besides, Michael has been seeing a psychologist for _reasons_ , and he's just half a step away from getting an autism diagnoses that he'd really like to be able to talk about with his best friend, without worrying about how much of Mrs. Heere’s anti-vax rhetoric he’ll have to clear up in the process. 

Michael tries to discuss it all with Jeremy precisely once. They’re hanging in Jeremy’s room, ostensibly playing video games, but really just zoning out on the screen and on each other. Jeremy looks either ten years younger or fifty years older than he actually is, and his cough has him doubling over every few minutes. 

“I've been doing some research on your mom’s antivax stuff,” Michael says, keeping his eyes trained on Mario and Luigi, as they race along the screen. They’ve been on level one forever, all green grass, blue skies, and stupid easiness. 

“Okay?” Jeremy smacks his controller, like it’s the problem, and not him. He looks from that, to the screen, and then back again. 

“In 1901, they used to make anti-diphtheria serum out of horse blood. Gnarly, right? And there was this horse named Jim, who had tetanus, and they injected his blood into some kids who also got tetanus and died. So, yeah. Horse blood injections are definitely something to be wary of, not that diphtheria isn't. And people living in 1901 were mega doomed to die of something, as illustrated by the fact that they probably all have, and most of them were forgotten, unlike Jim the diseased horse. The history of Jim the horse will be forever remembered, thanks to the untold horrors he caused.” 

Michael starts his speech cautiously enough, but he can't help injecting some enthusiasm into Jim’s sad tale by the end. It's not that he's happy about any of it, but weird facts are one of his passions. He's pretty sure that if an asteroid were heading towards the Earth, he'd be able to eek some pleasure out of his last moments if only he could spend them reading all the bizarre trivia about Kuiper Belt. 

Normally, Jeremy goes along with Michael when he talks like this. He might not always get it, but he’ll smile, or ask a question, or say something so Michael has something to go off of. 

Not today. 

“… Right,” is all that Jeremy says. He's dull and raspy. 

“Then,” Michael continues, a bit more wary, “in 1955, there were some polio vaccines that accidentally got contaminated with live polio virus, so more kids died. Of polio! Polio is hella bad. Trust me, you don't want it.” 

Jeremy puts down his controller, and turns to face Michael, eyes bright with accusations, and red where his coughs have made blood vessels burst.

“You agree with her!” Jeremy says, which is a high level of not getting it, even for him. Didn't Michael just tell him that polio, a disease all but wiped out by vaccines, was bad?

“I shouldn't say.” 

“But you do! Be-because of like… like horse serum and 1955, and…”

“I shouldn't say,” Michael repeats. He doesn't want to say. He wants Jeremy to figure things out on his own. He's told Jeremy what to think plenty of times, but that doesn't mean that he likes it. It's not that Jeremy isn't smart, it's just that he's such a tangled mess that he doesn't always know which way is up. 

Besides, although Michael has told Jeremy what to think before, he's never done it about something that could impact Jeremy’s feelings for him. 

“I think if I'd been a better kid, or maybe if I was better now, she wouldn't be like this,” says Jeremy, who is not thinking of Michael at all, only himself. 

“What? No.”

“It's just… like… I already sucked, and she couldn't risk making me _worse_ , and now she gets stuck dealing with all this crap just ‘cause she didn't want me to have autism or whatever.” 

Michael swallows.

“You know autism isn't necessarily a bad thing, right?” 

A shrug. 

Michael waits for Jeremy to agree with him, but instead he's curling in at the shoulders, like he's trying to get smaller. 

“And either way, it's way better than being dead from whooping cough.” Michael can't stop himself from talking now. “Not that I think you’re gonna die of whooping cough, ‘cause you totally aren't. But people do. Old people. Babies. Nobody ever killed anybody by walking around being autistic, but walking around carrying a contagious disease? That's bad. Not to mention that vaccines _don't_ cause autism. They verifiably don't, but that's not the point.” 

Michael takes in a shaky breath, searching Jeremy for any signs of comprehension.

“Okay, but you still haven't said if you think my mom’s right or not.”

(Somehow, Michael doesn't yell at him, or shake him for being so dumb.)

“What do _you_ think, Jeremy?” 

“There was… there was horse serum that killed people.” 

“In 1901,” Michael says. “One. Nine. Zero. One.” 

Jeremy coughs. He's all red, and scratching at his arms, which is something that he does when he gets nervous. His coughing gets worse, so Michael takes hold of his shoulders to steady him. This isn't Jeremy’s fault. His mom is the one who let Jeremy get sick. Jeremy’s mom is the one who cries when people disagree with her. How is Jeremy supposed to form his own opinions, when every time he does, his mom acts like he just murdered a puppy in front of her?

“I guess I'm wondering why you haven't been looking up this shit yourself,” Michael says. What he really means is that he does know why, but he wants Jeremy rise above it. “What you think of your mom’s choices is a hell of a lot more important than what I think of them. You’re the one who’s gonna get to make these choices yourself in a few years.” 

Jeremy shakes his head. He coughs harder, and Michael tries to vanish from his mind the image of Mrs. Heere, who becomes so immediately tragic in every argument, that she wins by default. Michael and Jeremy aren't arguing, after all. It's not like they’re even fighting, so much as talking at each other in different languages, which is weird, because they’ve got eleven years experience being on the same page. Why should it stop now?

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Michael asks gently, once Jeremy is done. 

“Nothing helps. It just keeps going.” 

“Okay.” Michael pats Jeremy’s back. “That sucks. So much.” 

—————

Jeremy recovers, but not without coughing hard enough to crack one of his ribs, necessitating a panicked late night emergency room visit. 

Jeremy recovers, but not before going back to school, finding out that he's still contagious because he decided to mess with the antibiotic dosage, and having to follow it up with another round. 

Jeremy recovers, and gains a bizarre new hand washing habit. He doesn't want to get sick again, and the way to combat that is excessive and diligent use of hygiene. 

It's a thing, like any other thing. If Jeremy wants to wash his hands eight hundred times a day, Michael isn't going to stop him. If he wants a ride to the store to get hand soap, so his family doesn't notice he's using all the soap in the house, that's fine too. 

“I don't want to do this,” Jeremy tells Michael on day, standing besides him at the bathroom sink. 

“It's cool,” Michael assures him. “Hey, I'll even wash my hands with you.” 

Another day, Michael tries to pass his controller to Jeremy during a video game session. The controller drops to the floor. Jeremy looks like he would like the floor to swallow him up. 

“Do you need me to, like…” Michael rubs his hands together, miming washing. 

“I am _so_ sorry.” 

“It's all good.” 

“I don't think you’re dirty. You’re not even a little dirty. Intellectually, I know, but I swear when I… when I don't do it…”

“I get it,” Michael says. “Nothing like soap and water to stave off impending doom. Wanna wipe down the controllers?” 

Jeremy takes a deep breath, flushing like he's gearing up to say something terrible. “Don't like… don't take this wrong, but you’re amazing, and I love you a lot.” 

From the way that Michael feels his own ears heating up, he supposes he might well be taking it wrong. “I know I'm the best,” he teases. “And you wuv me….”

“Actually, I take it back!” Jeremy pushes himself off the floor, to stand next to Michael, scooping up the controllers with him.

“No time for take backs. We’ve got shit to disinfect. Come on.”

——————-

The hand washing thing fits right in with the most difficult setting on Plague Inc. On that setting, everybody washes hands religiously, doctors work overtime, and anybody who seems likely to walk around spreading illnesses is summarily executed. Questions could be raised, about the worth of preserving the human species, at the cost of individual kindness and humanity, but Plague Inc is just a dumb game, where the virus is the protagonist, and it doesn't go that deep. 

Even so, Michael’s not a fan of the concept. He much prefers the idea of dramatic rescue attempts, even if they might go wrong. 

The next time Jeremy spreads something dangerous throughout the Middleborough student body, it's not any kind of basic illness, and it's not something that science has found a way to prevent. Hell, it’s made of science. It's practically a Star Trek monster of the week. 

The next thing that Jeremy spreads around the school makes Michael think that the whooping cough was almost fun, in comparison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (other fics of mine that I would consider interconnected with this chapter are Sickness and Laundry Days. Laundry Days was written before Michael had two moms in canon, so there are some continuity differences, but that's the one where I write Michael telling Jeremy about the whole autism thing. Sickness deals with the whooping cough thing from Jeremy's POV. As always, I basically live for feedback, so please let me know what you think of this chapter.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a panic attack towards the end of this chapters.

Teachers warn that junior year will be the most difficult, because that’s the year that you spend gearing up to impress whatever colleges you plan on applying to as a senior. What Michael hears when they try to tell him this is _blah blah blah blah blah blah COLLEGE!!_. Michael is psyched for college. It’ll be his chance to get away, and do what he really wants with his life, leaving all the assholes at Middleborough in the dust. It’ll be his chance to drag Jeremy along with him, to somewhere where it’s just the two of them, and there isn't so much noise and mess, just pure unadulterated possibility. 

Still, the teachers warn about how hard this year is going to be. 

“Books!” they holler. 

“Tests!” they cry. 

“Behold!” they sing out. “These extra curriculars shall round you out nicely!”

Occasionally, they scream more nonsensical things, like “Aaah! Mwah! Hot pockets!”. It’s all good though, because Michael doesn't take any classes with the weird hot pocket guy, and he doesn't precisely disapprove of his dietary choices, just wishes he’d be less creepy about them. 

None of the teachers warn about technological apocalypses. They predict Michael’s year of hell, sure enough, but not the reasons behind it. 

It happens like this: 

~~First - Jeremy comes to Michael one day, talking about how Rich Goranski cornered him in a school bathroom and told him to give him several hundred dollars to buy an unknown Japanese drug that would take over his mind.~~

First - Jeremy spends seventeen years being worn down by school bullies, family fucktittery, and the weight of his own overdeveloped sense of dread. 

**Second -** Jeremy comes to Michael one day, talking about how Rich Goranski cornered him in a school bathroom and told him to give him several hundred dollars to buy an unknown Japanese drug that would take over his mind.

Third - Michael drives Jeremy to the mall to buy said drug, like an idiot. Michael lets him buy it in cash in the back of a shoe store, gets him a bottle of Mountain Dew to wash it down with, then wanders off to do his own thing for a few minutes. Michael isn't even especially worried. Jeremy’s promised like twice not to abandon Michael on the off chance that he does become cool, and in the more likely event that he doesn't, Michael’s had most of his life to become adept at smoothing out the cracks and breaks in his best friend. 

The worry only sets in once Michael comes back and finds Jeremy missing. Up until that moment, this particular adventure seems tame, as far as Jeremy drama goes. 

Fourth - Everything goes to hell, but Michael doesn't like to think about that. He's saves the day, insofar as anybody does, but it's terrifying and the last thing he wants to dwell on, ever. 

Fifth - A new era begins, Squip free, and yet marked by a strange, new version of Jeremy Heere.

————-

“I took a walk in the park today,” Jeremy tells Michael over the phone, a couple of months after the Squip happens. “I was thinking that it’d be cool to be the kind of person who gets fresh air and feeds ducks and shit, so I did it! Or I tried to. There weren't any ducks. It wasn't actually the park. It was my backyard. But I walked around for a while.” 

“That's cool,” Michael says. He doesn't mention being at first bummed that Jeremy went to the park without him, and then concerned that he hadn't gone anywhere at all. “Outside is outside.” 

Michael glances at his window, and then at the clock on his computer. It’s around eleven o’clock, and pitch black. Jeremy calls him most nights after he takes his shiny new pills, to verify that optic nerve blocking or whatever isn't a side effect. Michael does most of the talking. Jeremy bringing up fake parks and ducks is a lot for him. 

“So…” Michael drums his fingers on his computer keyboard, searching for a topic. It doesn't matter what he talks about. Jeremy just needs to hear him talk. “You know that Voyager Episode where Paris and Janeway turn into horny lizards?” 

“That was a bad episode.” 

“Right? Well, somebody submitted the plot of that to a scientific journal and got published, so I'm feeling mega let down by science right now.” 

“Bill Nye would never stand for this," Jeremy says. Michael grins. It's good to hear Jeremy sounding like himself. 

“Dude, there's so much science that guy wouldn't stand for. He's the good side of science.” 

“The happy medium between stuff that fucks up your brain, and living under a rock?” Jeremy asks. He sounds cheerful, and so Michael agrees with him. 

“That's exactly what Bill Nye is. The god of happy mediums.” 

————-

At lunch the next day, Michael is recounting his and Jeremy’s revelations about Bill Nye the science deity to the table, when Rich gets up and leaves. Then Jeremy drops the chicken nugget, which is halfway to his mouth, stands, and follows after Rich robotically. Michael gets up to follow as well, but Christine stops him with a hand on his wrist. 

“Don't tell me that it's Squip stuff,” Michael grumbles. 

“Looks like I don't have to,” Christine answers. The way that Jeremy has things that he can't share with Michael now, things that he'd rather share with Rich Goranski of all people, has been one of the hardest aspects of Jeremy’s transformation for Michael to get used to. In fact, Michael’s got all these friends all of a sudden, and all of them are bound together by this shared thing that he was a part of ending, but not a part of experiencing, and it's not something that he can do anything about. 

“How much of these nuggets do you think are actual chicken?” Jenna Rolan asks, holding hers under her phone light and scrutinizing it. 

Michael lays his head in his arms. “They’re at least forty percent cardboard,” he mutters, before pulling his hood up. 

——————— 

“Bill Nye was one of Rich’s Squips,” Jeremy tells Michael over the phone that evening. 

“One of them?!” Michael is up and pacing. “He had more than one?” 

“He technically had one, but it changed shapes whenever he started to get sick of it. He went through like twenty different versions.” 

“Ah,” Michael says, like that makes sense. It doesn't make sense. The idea that a technological figment of Bill Nye the Science Guy was controlling Rich Goranski all those times that he drew penises on Michael’s locker makes no sense at all. “How many forms did your Squip take?” Michael asks. 

Jeremy doesn't answer. 

“Jer? You with me bud?” 

“I'm doing this thing where I'm… I'm being mentally healthy,” Jeremy says. 

“Good! That's the spirit!” 

“So, there are like these voices in my head.” 

Michael stops pacing. “Alright, so that's not what I imagined when you said mentally healthy.” 

“I mean metaphorical voices.” 

“Oh!” Michael resumes his pacing. “Metaphorical voices I can get behind. Do you mean like, your doubt and your anxiety and shit?”

“No. I mean, it's more like Jenna telling me to believe in myself, and Brooke telling me Christine will like my acne, and you worrying about the voices like you did just now.” 

Michael frowns. The nice thing about using the phone to talk, is that Jeremy can't look at his face and know that he's weirded out. 

“So, me talking to you right now is a voice in your head?” 

“Like an influence. There are lots of influences, but the main thing is that I need to be my own biggest influence. I need to, like, trust my own instincts and do what I think is right.” 

Michael lets out a breath. “That makes a lot of sense, actually. Follow your heart, bro. I believe in you.” 

———————

Jeremy’s instincts malfunction sometimes. Right after the Squip, it's something that happens nearly every day. Slowly, it diminishes to something that happens most weeks, and then something that happens most months, and then something that still happens… but less. 

It's a day in late May, and Michael and Jeremy are at the mall looking for a birthday gift for Chloe, and it happens. They’re standing, rather conspicuously, in the middle of Claire's, trying to figure out the line between sparkly and tacky (not that Michael is bothered by tacky), when Jeremy just stops. He covers his head with his hands, as though bracing for a blow that doesn't come. Michael takes in his tightly closed eyes, and his frozen posture, and steps in closer, as casually as he can. Jeremy might unstick himself in a minute or two. Sometimes he does. The other people in the shop mill about them, trying on silly glasses, picking out accessories from the ten for five sale rack, and only occasionally looking in the direction of Jeremy and Michael. Tentatively, Michael puts a hand on Jeremy’s back, but his friend only tightens up further. 

“Jer?” Michael whispers. He's not really expecting an answer, and he doesn't get one. 

They end up standing there for nearly thirty minutes, Jeremy completely still, except for a few times, when he licks his lips, only to resume being frozen a second later. Five minutes into it, Michael takes out his phone to play Tetris. This is just how Jeremy is now. He needs Michael to stay here with him, and Michael needs something to do with his hands. 

At least the cashier isn't paying them any mind. She's probably not paid enough to bother.

Finally, Jeremy takes in a gasping breath, like somebody coming up from deep under water. “I'm sorry,” he says. 

“Let's get out of here,” Michael says. This time Jeremy doesn't automatically stiffen when Michael touches him, to guide him out. 

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy repeats in the hall, and repeats again once Michael gets him situated at one of the food court tables outside. 

“It's okay.” Michael sits down across from Jeremy. “You’re okay.” 

“I'm sorry.” 

Michael only hums in response. There's nothing to say. The apologies will keep coming for a while yet, regardless. They’re just another thing that Jeremy will have to get through, before he can come back to himself. Michael takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes, and then waits through five or six more apologies. He hugs Jeremy when it's over. They don't say anything in the car on the way home. 

———————

“The teachers keep talking about how this year is our most important one, and it's almost over,” Jeremy says over the phone that night. 

_Good riddance,_ Michael doesn't say. _I’m striking this year from my memory the minute it's over,_ he doesn't say either. In fact, he doesn't say anything. He makes an affirmative grunt, and takes a big slurp of the slushee he's drinking. 

“I'm worried about you,” Jeremy says, and Michael chokes, sputtering out the ice in his throat. 

“You’re what? Me? Dude, why?” 

“You’re not studying for finals or anything.” 

“Since when do I ever?” Michael asks. 

“Since college is happening. Last time I checked, that was a big deal to you.” 

“Last time I checked, anybody can get accepted into some school or another in this capitalist wasteland we’re living in.” 

“Yeah, but…”

Michael takes another big gulp of his slushee, pushing it painfully past the area where his throat is threatening to close up. Up until the Squip thing, his grades had been decent, for a stoner who didn't try too hard or pay attention when classes got boring. As of now, his grades are shit. Neither him nor Jeremy are likely to pass enough classes to technically be considered seniors next year, but that's a solvable problem, provided they fill up every second of their schedule next year, and therefore acquire enough credits to claw and scrape their way to graduation. 

“What set you off in the mall today?” Michael interrupts. Thinking about how hard he's going to have to work just to get by ties his stomach in knots. 

“Just. Decisions.” 

Michael nods, not that Jeremy can see him. Decisions, Jeremy has explained, can bite him in the ass. The Squip told him that all of his own decisions were wrong, and then he told himself that anything the Squip would approve of was also wrong, which often leaves him with no possible correct path. 

“I get it,” Michael says, full of determined levity. “Choosing between approximately a gazillion sparkly hair clips is hard work.” 

“I was trying to decide if I wanted to get her anything. Not that I don't want to get her anything. I want to… so, maybe I want to sort some things out with her, like… like, maybe by talking. But maybe not.” 

“But maybe not,” Michael repeats. 

“But maybe not.” 

“Okay.”

For a minute, Jeremy and Michael are quiet. 

“Hey,” Jeremy starts. He clears his throat. “So… um… thanks for not freaking out when I—”

“It's fine.” 

“No. I mean, yeah. I get that it's “fine”, I just really appreciate you, man.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I changed the title.

First semester, senior year. Jeremy, Michael, and Christine are at Michael’s house, sitting in his basement, looking through a book of college and university stats. The book has got majors and GPA requirements, tuition prices and lists of demographics. Christine is sandwiched between Michael and Jeremy on the bed, holding the book open in her hands. 

There's no question of all three of them going off to school together. The last few months have been crazy, as they've floundered at defining their unique brand of interconnectedness. Jeremy has dated Christine! Jeremy has dated Michael! Jeremy has dated Christine _and_ Michael! Simultaneously!

(It was all very consensual, though Michael never quite figured out what that made him and Christine to each other. Bosom companions? Sister wives? Dating by proximity?)

At the moment, Jeremy and Michael are a thing, and Christine has forsworn romantic involvement with either of them for the time being, a decision which she is showing by acting exactly the same way as she did when they were together. 

None of this comes with a clear set of rules, and it’s hella confusing. What Michael does know is that Christine is revving up to study theatre and maybe women's studies at the best school she can get into, and that he and Jeremy are still negotiating what they're going to make of their future. No matter what happens, Michael’s not going to give up his dream of going off to college with Jeremy. He just wishes Jeremy wouldn't make it so complicated.

“I want to go far away,” Jeremy says.

“Kansas McDonald’s,” Michael teases. This earns him a half-hearted scowl, and a good humored shove. 

“…I think I'm missing another piece of your mega intense best friends since forever backstory,” says Christine. 

“Tried to run away to Kansas in kindergarten,” Jeremy says. “Didn't get that far.” 

“Got as far as hitchhiking in the dead of night. Not your fault they took you to the police. Name one time in your life when you haven't had balls of steel.”

“Answering questions in class.” 

“Fair.” 

Michael’s left arm is crossed over Christine's lap, so that Jeremy can play with the bracelets on Michael’s wrists. That's a thing that he does now. He can't fidget in the old way since the Squip made its mark on his mind, but fiddling with Michael’s jewelry and (somewhat annoyingly) picking the threads out of his patches are not among the things that the Squip trained out of him, mostly because those are brand new things that have only sprung up with the Squip’s demise. 

Jeremy tugs at the first bracelet, then the second, the third, and the fourth. He pulls on the fourth, then the third, and the second, and first.

“We _could_ go to Kansas,” Jeremy says. “Nothing is stopping us from going to Kansas.” 

“Tornados,” says Christine.

Jeremy shrugs. He's gotten weird about what freaks him out and what doesn't. Germs are horrifying, but tornadoes are fine. Being called on by teachers can send him into a stuttering panic, but getting a big role in the spring musical is exciting. Moving to Kansas is a total possibility, but he doesn't want to switch to a shopping mall that doesn't trigger his PTSD, because the prospect of not knowing where things are is way worse. 

“I hear Kansas is crawling with republicans,” says Michael. 

Jeremy scrunches up his face and pretends to gag. 

“Oh!” says Christine. “You could go to Santa Fe!” 

“Right. We could go to Santa Fe,” Jeremy echoes.

“…Okay, _why_?” asks Michael. 

Christine has already got the university guide open to the chapter on New Mexico, a state which is very far away, and not on Michael’s list of places to visit, let alone pick up and move to. “It's a joke,” she says. 

“A joke,” says Jeremy. 

“One of you is going to have to explain that one.”

“ _Just a moon so big and yellow,_ ” Christine sings, adopting a ridiculous New Yoirk accent, “ _it turns night right into day. Ain't it neat, livin’ sweet in Santa Fe!”_

“ _We’ll open up a restaurant,_ ” Jeremy starts, in a completely different tune. Michael leans over to kiss him. Seems like a better way to stop the musical extravaganza than a pillow to the face, and hey, it works. It's like Michael has finally hit the right balance with Jeremy, where he's good at making everything work right for the two of them. College, he knows, is going to be even better. 

——————

“I've changed my mind about Santa Fe,” Jeremy says a few days later. He and Michael are walking from their shared Statistics class down to the cafeteria. “I don't think we should go there.” 

“Hold up. Weren't you joking about going there? Still don't get it, by the way.” 

“People in musicals—”

“I know, I know. People in musicals have a huge ass Santa Fe kink. What does that have to do with us?” 

“They only go there when they want something that isn't what they actually want. Santa Fe is a symbol for dreams that aren't meant to come true.” 

“I'm high key sure that it's a real state.” 

“City!” 

“Continent.” Michael sticks his tongue out at Jeremy. 

“I was thinking we could maybe move to Hawaii.” 

“Fuck.” 

“It's far away and not politically conservative.” 

“My point stands. Fuck, man.” 

————-

Jeremy goes through a series of off days. It happens, and his off days have been getting less and less terrible. Lately they just mean that he's really fucking out of it, and doesn't talk much. Easy enough to cope with. All Jeremy seems to need is from Michael is for him to be patient and be present. The rest Jeremy can sort out in his own way. 

That doesn't always prevent Michael from making the occasional grand gesture. Some work better than others.

Michael and Jeremy spend a day watching Lexx: Tales From a Parallel Universe. It's not the best 90’s sci-fi has to offer, but it's got a bunch of quirky misfits exploring the universe in a starship shaped like a “dragonfly” (dick) , so that's something. 

If Michael had to guess, he'd say Jeremy has no idea what's going on on the screen. His eyes are glazed over, and he's got Michael’s bracelets again, pulling them first-second-third-fourth-fourth-third-second-first. And that's absolutely fine. Michael would never stop him from doing that. Hopefully it helps him in whatever brain space he's entered.

On the car ride home, Michael comes up with a an idea to make things better for Jeremy, a way to keep him moving in the right direction. 

“Hey!” Michael says when they pull into the Heere driveway. His voice is too abrupt, maybe because of the way that Jeremy’s house is looming in front of them. The place is much less fraught without Mrs. Heere, with her worries and her wine. Nonetheless, Michael imagines his and Jeremy’s upcoming freshman year of college as a rescue of sorts. He just needs to give Jeremy something in the meantime, a protective talisman. He twists his bracelets around on his wrist, then slides one off.

“Here,” Michael says, brandishing the bracelet. “Take this.” 

“Uh… thanks?” 

Jeremy blinks several times in quick succession, in that patented confused but compliant way of his. He reaches out for the bracelet, but Michael pulls away. He still has a lot to explain. 

“I remember, before the Squip, you always used to—” Michael holds up his hands, opening and closing them several times. That's one Jeremy’s pre-Squip nervous ticks. It's one of the things that the Squip probably used to _shock_ him for doing. Jeremy hasn't said much about that, beyond a furtive nod when Michael once asked whether or not the Squip had hurt him. Most of the dirt Michael’s got, the stories about strict punishment for the most innocuous things, and bizarre systems of rewards and rebukes, come from talking to Rich. 

(Rich’s Squip, beyond the electrical shocks, turned hot showers into a special treat that he could only get if he performed super well. Something as simple as hot fucking showers!)

“And, get this, I've been reading up on stuff since my autism diagnoses,” Michael says in a rush, before thoughts of the things Rich talked about ( the things that Michael is going to _fix_ ) can become too overwhelming, “and what you were doing was completely normal! I'm talking, _mega_ normal, for people with a lot of other stuff, like autism, but also anxiety or whatever, and I know that fucking defective tic-tac in your brain didn't like it, but get this! What if we mutually decided that this bracelet is made out of Squip bullshit immune material?” 

“…You mean plastic?” 

(That's Jeremy not getting it.)

(It's okay. Michael can explain it until he does. )

“Just work with me here, man. That shit stain robot was activated with Mountain Dew. Fucking Mountain Dew. How random is that? Why shouldn't plastic help deal with the after-effects? You know, plastic, or orange jello, or Watson’s lemon flavored tonic water… literally whatever. It'd make about as much sense.” 

Jeremy sucks in a breath, and for a moment, Michael is worried that he's gone and incited some kind of panic attack. A second later, Jeremy’s face smooths out, and he takes the bracelet, holding it in his closed first. 

“Thanks,” he says hoarsely. 

He leaves after that, stopping near the door of his house to wave goodbye to Michael. The next day, and every day thereafter, he wears the bracelet. 

————————

“I'm serious about wanting to move away for college,” Jeremy says, when they start applying in earnest. “Not in a let’s fulfill my dumb childhood fantasy of living in a midwestern fast food restaurant kinda way, or in an ‘I know a song about this place let's live there’ kinda way. I'm not being stupid. It's not a joke.” 

“I don't know, man.” Michael takes a hit from the pipe they're sharing. Brooke made it in ceramics class, by adding an extra hole to the “vase” she’d told the teacher she was making. Michael never wanted friends beyond Jeremy, but now that he has them and it's going good, he's not so sure about the idea of everybody scattering to the winds. Christine is probably going somewhere in New York, so not far away. Rich isn't going at all, so he'll be sticking around. Plus, if either Michael or Jeremy really fucks up while they're a million miles from home, they’ll be each other’s only support system again. That didn't work the first time. The Squip was evidence of how spectacularly that didn't work. 

“Come on,” says Jeremy. “You love researching shit. You research and pick a state that doesn't suck. We’ll go there. It'll be good. We don't even have to go to school. We could save the money.” 

“We’re definitely going to school.” 

“Okay! Great. We’re definitely going to school. I agree.” 

“Why do you wanna get away so bad, anyway?” 

Jeremy tugs at his bracelet. That's one area where Michael got things right. Jeremy twists it around when he's nervous, and plucks at it a few times in preparation whenever he needs to say something important. 

“I wanna reinvent myself—” He puts up his hand, as though to stop Michael from protesting. “Not in a bad way! I don't care about being cool, and I don't want to change who I am. I just—”

“Isn't changing who you are kinda the definition of reinventing yourself?” 

“I want to stop feeling tied in knots about stupid shit. That's all. And maybe get away from being known as the kid who freezes up in the middle of the hallway, and drugged the entire school, and was in a coma, and vored a super computer, and had a crazy mom, and started a whooping cough outbreak. So much stuff has happened here in New Jersey, and it's built up. It’s like trying to outrun a curse or whatever. I have to do it, Michael. It's the only way to fix anything. I need you to support me in this.” 

Michael sighs. “I've got aunts in Vermont, and an uncle in LA. Would either of those places work?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think? It means a lot to me.
> 
> Also, please excuse the cliffhanger ending. What happens with Michael and Jeremy in college (and beyond!) is something I'm currently working on in another fic.


End file.
